As our last few days approached, we tried our best to ignore all of the feelings we were having. We were sad, we were tired, and we couldn’t believe that our time was up. So we didn’t talk about it, and we pretended that we could stay in London forever.
Mikayla was the first to leave. On Tuesday night, we all had our last hurray, our last drinks, and our last laughs together, for a while at least. We ended the night with smiles and memories, and no tear was shed. But then came Wednesday morning. I swear I woke up crying. The whole gang woke up early, helped Mikayla pack her final things, and walked over to the Earl’s Court tube station. In general, I’m not really a huge crier, but that morning, you could find me crying on the floor of the station. Now, when I say crying, I don’t mean the cute, sweet kind of single-tear, crying in romance movies. When I saw I was crying, I mean it was loud, I mean I was shaking, and I mean that it was coming from my eyes and my nose, and that people were avoiding me like the plague. As much as we kept trying to remember the cliché, that “its not a goodbye, it’s a see you later…”, it was still hard to say even “see you later” to people who have impacted your life so much. But we did it. And we did it several times again after that. But that “see you later” never got any easier. So before I go on, I want to say thank you to all of those incredible people (you know who you are) you I will have to see later. Thank you for traveling the world with me. Thank you for giving me some of the best memories. Thank you for helping me through my homesickness and tears. Thank you for the endless nights of drinking and some of the greatest nights that I will never be able to fully remember. Thank you for all of the stomach aches from laughing too hard. Thank you for running to catch planes with me and walking home with me at an ungodly hour. Thank you for making these past few months the best time of my life. I love you guys!!
So then it was Thursday morning, and it was my turn to leave. If you know me, if you read these blogs, and if you have a basic understanding of the order of the days of the week, you’ll know that the night before must have been a Wednesday. And on Wednesdays, we go to The Slug @Fulham. That week would not be any different. We were sad to say goodbye, but were determined to make our last night count. About half way through the night, people started to file out of the club to catch their flights, so we had to say “see you later” again…and again…and again. Now mind you, we were at The Slug, so we weren’t only sad, but we had been drinking, so our emotions were running absolutely wild! We all had fun, but needless to say, the management at the club was clearly not prepped for all of the emotions in the club that night. We left the club, got home at an unreasonable hour, set our alarms, and went to bed to catch our flights the next morning. But this was not before my emotions and intoxication got the best of me. For everyone at home who criticizes me for my lack of preparation (always), and my inability to pack in advance, let me just say, I had been packed for a week at this point!! But Thursday morning, I woke up to find that I decided to unpack my entire suitcase the night before, in some sort of desperate attempt to stay in London (I guess the thought process was something like “Well they can’t MAKE me leave right??”). So I guess when it comes to packing, I just can’t win.
By the time I had repacked, called a cab, and headed to the airport, I thought I had cried all of the tears left in my body. But at some point during the drive, I was proved seriously incorrect. I’m not entirely sure what triggered me, but all I know is that one minute I was fine, talking to my cab driver, and the next, he was asking me if I needed him to pull over because I was crying so much. That poor guy. I did give him a nice tip afterwards for putting up with me in such an emotional frenzy.
So I must have been out of tears at that point right? Wrong. Lucky for me, there was an empty seat next to me on the plane. I would have felt terrible if someone had had to sit next to me on that plane; mascara stained on my cheeks, eyes puffy, somehow still crying, curled up in a ball next to the window, listening to sad music as I waved goodbye to the city I fell in love with.
When I look back, all I can do is laugh because I must have looked absolutely ridiculous. So hopefully after reading this, you have all learned what I clearly didn’t know before coming abroad: always pack water resistant mascara and tissues in your carry on.
The second I touched down in Ireland, my tears had dried and I was so excited to start my next adventure.
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